


Seven Kittens and a Dog

by Dionysiaca



Series: Cats and Dogs [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Barebacking, Cullen is an adorable silly, Dorian is his usual self-deprecating self, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pet fic, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:06:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dionysiaca/pseuds/Dionysiaca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an afternoon of delicious kitten play breaks down into a nearly fatal misunderstanding, Cullen's dog, Sam, turns out to be the only one with any sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Demon in Disguise

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Bit of a spoiler here, but this fic does have some homophobic violence that might be considered triggering.
> 
> This is part of a series, and although it sort of works as a stand-alone piece, I would recommend that you read the previous fic in order to fully understand some of the stuff here.
> 
> This fic has been beta'd, so any final mistakes are definitely my own.

'Azazel, please. I don't think Kamael likes that. So ironic. They are all little boys.'

Cullen listened to the low, lovely voice. The seven kittens were tearing around the room, at their best pace, which was faster than a swallow. Their feet thundered on the wooden floor.

'Azazel is a speed demon,' Cullen said.

Dorian watched the chase, then turned to Cullen. 'They are all demons,' he said. 'Beautiful, heart-shaking demons.' In a scarlet silk dressing gown, he looked a little like a demon himself, and as innocent of his own beauty as any kitten.

Cullen knew that was true too. Dorian knew he was attractive and sexy, and that any remotely gay man would want to jump his elegant bones, but that wasn't the same as feeling beautiful. Not at all. Dorian honestly didn't see his own beauty, or his value.

So Cullen was refusing to do the jumping bones thing, until Dorian stopped being a kitten and became more cat, till he knew himself remarkable.

God _damn_ it, but he wanted to show Dorian just how very much he was beautiful, in an inch-by-inch tongue bath, or a slow wet melting of mouths, a tender gentle hand on his face.

He didn't let himself dwell on any of it. Because it wasn’t time yet.  Dorian had to trust him first.  Had to know that Cullen meant something more y it than just an hour of pleasure.  It had to be part of something bigger.  It was already part of something for Cullen.  A mission, a quest. 

But…when Dorian wore that silk robe, only loosely tied, his chest half bare, not even a god could see him and not want to leap on him and take him.

NO. He wasn't going to give in.  No. He knew Dorian was trying to make him act. But that was because this was all Dorian knew to do. To fuck, to have a few tender moments, and then to run. To run fast than Azazel.

Cullen didn't want that.

And also, he didn't think he could take that.

Dorian was - well, Cullen had never been good at letting go of any good thing, let alone any perfect, amazing thing. He'd been very, very good at holding on. At waiting.

Only problem was, he was waiting for Dorian to stop seeing him as a potential fuck-buddy, without him having to go through the fuck-buddy stage. It was inconvenient that he only needed to glance at Dorian, bending forward in that robe, allowing the robe to fall open, to find himself rock-hard, aching, so that rearranging his crossed legs had become a big part of his evenings. 

No. Not yet, he told his impetuous body.

To distract himself, Cullen picked up a kitten, a speckled mass of fur with huge shining eyes. His hands sought refuge on the warm flanks.

The kitten began to purr, soft, throaty. Dorian came closer.

'Much the sweetest of them,' he said. 'The sweetest little kitten.' He was looking straight into Cullen's eyes. The robe belt had slipped. Cullen felt his face heat. Through the thin silk, he could see the muscles of Dorian's shoulders. The grey eyes were fixed on his.

'Yes, he’s really adorable.' He dropped his own eyes to the bundle of fur squirming in his lap, trying not to look back at Dorian.

A long-fingered hand stretched out.

Cullen thought Dorian was just reaching to stroke the kitten. But the hand very gently moved upwards, cupped his face. The hand was warm, gentle. The thumb ran along to his mouth. Now Dorian, half-naked, was almost in his lap.

With a gasp for air, Cullen stood up, turned away.

'I- I can't - Not - look, I-please.'

He put Leptiel down, and turned for the door.

'Cullen,' said the voice. 'Cullen, don't go. Cullen, I'm sorry. Cullen.'

He had to blank out the last call, the pleading in it, because if he went back, it would be to say, 'Dorian, fuck me senseless, any way you like.' Which would tell Dorian exactly what the world had always told him, that he was of temporary value only for his looks.

He had to hope Dorian would understand.

Meanwhile, his plan was simple. Go home, shower, lonely wank, night walk with Sam.

The lonely wank part was necessary. His whole body ached with longing, and he was so hot and hard it almost hurt. His cock was hoping to transmit a frantic message. _Go back, go back to him – are you bloody mad?_ But it was used to getting a no from Cullen. Hell, his whole body was.

So he greeted Sam, who leapt at him, not unlike the way he'd wanted to leap at Dorian, but Cullen told him no and Sam accepted it, as Cullen's own body did, with a short whine, followed by resignation.

But he needed Cullen's hand, scratching his ears, and Cullen himself had to make do without a single touch.

Funny thought. Because there was a reason people said dogsbody. A dog was so willing, so hopeful, body pressing deep into a chest or a rug.

And being warmed, and caressed softly, then very much harder, so his and his lover’s bodies would go beyond an immediate urgent pushing quest, into a settled ease that still brought real delight, never became dulled by the fact that it happened every day.

_That_ was what he wanted. Not for himself, but for Dorian.

For that, he was willing to wait. Even when Dorian let his silk robe fall open, not accidentally. Even when Dorian's very smile caught at him and set him on fire with want. No, with need.

_Don't think about it._

The trouble was that it didn't ever occur to Cullen that his behaviour might have any impact on Dorian. He never even considered the possibility it could be misconstrued. As in, misconstrued as really hurtful rejection.

As in, misconstrued as a sign that Dorian himself was just a dreary fuckhole so low-grade that Cullen wanted nothing to do with him, not even in the short term.  

A sign that Dorian was as worthless as he'd always thought he was.

A sign of all the terrible devastating loneliness forever and ever, Ay-fucking-men.

And Cullen had never even in his wildest dreams or fantasies imagined what Dorian might do if he really thought himself despised.

* * *

So Cullen went through his normal night-time routine, including teeth-cleaning and inattentive, sleepy reading, and taking Sam out, and taking Sam back in to lie at the foot of his bed.

And the part where he lay awake, listening to the partygoers going home, listening to the town clock striking midnight, and trying to ignore the way his body kept responding stubbornly to the memory of Dorian, so completely and compellingly alluring, so perfect, and so vulnerable, so inclined to underrate himself.

Cullen didn't just think about Dorian's body. He thought about how tender he was with the kittens, all of them.

There had been a moment when one of the kittens had attacked one another, a vicious roiling maul.  Dorian had watched them, smiling, but when Zophiel was overwhelmed by three others, and gave a loud, pathetic mew, Dorian's whole face changed. 'That's enough,' he said, and the dark was in his voice; it was abruptly edged.

His hand came down. Easily, one by one he plucked the kittens away from Zophiel.

Then Zophiel was cradled in one gentle hand, and his ears scratched, until he purred, loud, humming, happy.

Only then did Dorian look at Cullen and smile, a half-smile, deprecating.

'They are _monsters_ at this age,' he said, and settled Zophiel on his lap. Zophiel was shivering with purrs.

_Lucky Zophiel._

But something was very wrong there too. The level of Dorian's emotions. Too much. Too much.

Cullen was almost asleep.

And then Sam, who never barked at night, sprang to his feet, leapt off the bed, ran to the door, barking furiously, his alarm bark, fear, fire, foes, wake, wake! Master!

Without a second's thought, Cullen was up, pulling on sweatpants and a windbreaker, listening, sniffing –

Fire? No. No smell.

Foes? No. No sounds.

But Sam went on barking, louder, louder, faster.

Cullen put a hand on his head, and Sam looked up at him. One or two more of those fast, urgent barks. 

'What is it? What is it, boy?' Tail wagging in a frenzy. Sam pointed his whole body at the front door, then put both paws on it, scratched hard.

'Ok, ok, you want to go out?' Cullen opened the door.

Sam flung himself through and ran, straight out of the building and into the street, barking furiously.

Cullen said a very bad word. And ran after him.

'Sam! Sam!' But Sam was oblivious. He ran all the way to the town centre, Cullen in hot pursuit, his bare feet spurred by the gritty tarmac. 'Sam!'

When they reached the lighted area, he became aware, over his own breathing and over Sam's furious barking, of another sound. The sound of raised voices, taunting voices, and the sound of breaking glass, and the sick sound of blows on human bodies.

Sam was leading them both into a bad bar fight.

They were in a back alley, behind the Hanged Man, out by the rubbish, and in the dim flickering light Cullen could make out three men, standing over the prostrate form of a fourth man lying on the ground. One of the standing men aimed a kick at the prone man, and Cullen heard the sick crack as the steel boot tip hit bone, and heard the man on the ground gasp, grunt.  Sam barked furiously and sprang straight at the kicking man, jaws wide.

Cullen ran to stop him.

Looked again.

Because the man on the ground was Dorian, face covered in runnels of his own blood, body curled tight against kicks.

Something woke in Cullen then. A great storm of killing fury, cold as a blizzard.

He didn't even feel the pain as his right fist slammed one man to the ground, as he pivoted and slung his left fist at the other.  Both went down, and Sam had the third one bailed up. Cullen barely noticed as the fourth took to his heels.

One of the men he had punched tried to get up.

'You want more, do you? Come and get it, if you really think you're hard enough.'

The man staggered to his feet, wiping away blood.

'Look, mate. We was just having a bit of fun. This bloke's a poofter. A fruit.  Anyone can - '

He was silenced by another heavy punch in the mouth, and staggered back, wiping away blood.

'You're a fucking coward,' Cullen said. 'Get away from me before I kill you.'

The three of them took to their heels together.

Cullen called 999 on his phone. Distantly, he thought how lucky it was that he always kept it in his sweatpants. 

He didn't dare move Dorian much. He was breathing, though. So Cullen rolled the limp body into the recovery position.

Blood poured from Dorian’s nose. There were a dozen deep cuts on his face.

Sam whined.

Cullen was shaking. Burying his hands in Sam's ruff, he said, 'Good boy.' But he didn't take his eyes from Dorian's face until it was lit by the blue and red glare of the ambulance lights. 


	2. Slow breaths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who did my writers' survey! Still room for more responses if anyone is interested.

His face under the harsh hospital lights was so swollen and purple that it was almost unrecognisable. Great livid clouds of bruises and swellings. And the lacerations, ploughing down the right cheek, over the left-hand side of the nose. The nose was in a bandage, white plaster against the golden skin. The lips too were broken, like the spines of books, over-stretched.

There were drips in his arm. He was attached to machines that went ping, and to machines that ticked.

Dorian's chest rose and fell, very slowly.

Cullen sat stiffly on a hard plastic chair, and listened to the sounds. He hadn't prayed since Helmand, but he now suddenly found himself saying a Hail Mary, as if it might help.

As though he could be of any help. He could still find his memory of the beautiful face he'd never let himself kiss, in the ruin in front of him.

He looked at the face and he felt something in him that was more than tears, more than tenderness. More than heartbreak. Just looking at Dorian created an exquisite hurt unlike anything, beyond tears. It hurt on a scale he could hardly understand, but he couldn't think about his own pain at all. How could he, confronted by the pain he could see, pain that made him wince and shiver?

He couldn't imagine ever touching Dorian again.

He didn't think he'd ever dare.

Because how, how had those bastards dared?

Cullen's knuckles were bandaged, because both of them were split right across, but he only wished he'd hit the bastards harder.

He wished he could make them look like Dorian looked.

Or worse.

Much worse.

He'd like to gouge their eyes out and slam their faces repeatedly into the hardest concrete pavement he could find.

He found he'd begun to shake all over with a fury that was completely impotent.

He knew _real_ regret now.

Real, burning regret.

Double regret.

The longing to go back.

And to kiss.

And to hold.

And to gaze and gaze.

And the longing to be there in time.

Oh, God If only he'd been there in time.

So his thoughts churned like waves thundering into a rock pool. And it never got old. He never felt any calmer or more at ease with it.

He listened for every low breath with exactly the same suspense, the same dread. The desperate dread that it would stop…

But it was already too late. He'd failed utterly, in a way he could hardly have imagined.

What he should have done was to say one simple three word sentence. 'I love you.'

He should have said it to Dorian and to himself.

He could say it now.

And God, it was a surprise.

Even to himself.

The voices of commonsense said he barely knew the guy.

But commonsense was completely wrong. Love wasn't a matter of days and weeks. How long had Sam taken to decide he was master? Maybe three, four days, though trust had taken much longer.  He’d trusted Sam _first_ , and so Sam had learnt to trust him, to know that he would always be there.  He’d known Sam needed him, and it had been a matter of minutes, maybe even seconds, in the shelter, meeting Sam’s brown eyes, reading his face, the hope in it not quite lost. 

And yet Sam knew all about being abused, and it didn’t make him less loving.  It didn’t make him less willing to give his heart in a minute. 

And equally, weeks and months could turn out to be nothing. As they had with Samson.

He wasn’t going to think of Samson, not here, with the hospital smell in his nose. 

He held on tightly to the thought of Sam.  Aloud, he said, ‘crazy.’  It was crazy. All of it. So you just had to throw yourself at it hard and fast, and hang in and be there for the person, like Sam was for him.

It was Sam who taught him about love.

Sam who'd shown him what he, Cullen, felt for Dorian. Because Sam had known that something precious was under attack. So it followed that Sam knew Cullen's heart better than Cullen himself.

If only Sam could be here now. The hospital had a no-dogs rule, so Sam was boarding - none too contentedly - with a neighbour, a nice old man whose own dog had died a month ago.

Every three hours Cullen left the bedside and sprinted to see him, his heart in his mouth the whole way. Sam seemed to know he couldn't stay. The whole time, Cullen heard the words the doctor had said about Dorian.

'Probably kidney damage. We've fixed the spleen rupture. We should get a sense of how it's going in the next forty-eight hours or so. He might need hemodialysis.'

Which Cullen knew all about from Helmand.  The always tried rehydration first.  Sometimes it worked.  If it didn’t, they had minutes to start hemodialysis.  Minutes. 

And at the hospital, whole hours went by without anyone checking on Dorian.  Without anyone but Cullen.

So then the sprint back, to the bedside, and Dorian’s chest still moving at the same pace, no quickening or shallowing of the breath.

A nurse was there, too.  The same one as in he previous hour.  Red hair. 

'How long since you took a break?' the nurse asked.

Cullen looked away from Dorian for a second, out of sheer politeness, and then looked back at the lovely, shattered face and the rise and fall of the chest.

'I'm not hungry,' he said, watching the breaths.

'Look, I'll sit with him for you. You could go to the café. Give me your mobile number, and I'll buzz you if there's any change.'

Cullen looked at her. She was young, and smiling kindly.

'I just want to help,' she said.

Probably she did.

She came right over to Cullen.

'I hear you were quite the hero,' she said.

Cullen could have burst into tears. At last he said, 'Look at him. Some hero.'

'Might have been a lot worse.' She patted him on the shoulder. She smelt of soap and mints.

'Can you tell me how he's doing?'

'He'll be fine. You won't be if you don't go and have some dinner.' Cullen stood up because it was easier to do that than to explain, and besides, he had a plan.

Dorian's breathing hadn't faltered.

He all but ran. Not to the café, of course. To Dorian's apartment, because even though Millie had promised to look in on Niko and the kittens, Cullen knew that was one of the first things Dorian would ask about when he came around.

Yes, _when,_ fuck you, you gods. _When._

Millie had left the heating on low, and had put out plenty of kitten pellet food, and everyone seemed fine, if a bit lonely and needy. Cullen cleaned out the litter tray.  Dorian had a very posh one that looked like a piece of antique furniture.    It came with deodorisers.  Beside it was the artificial branched treehouse with its eight mohair and wool kitten beds.  With characteristic perversity, the seven demons were ignoring it. 

To be fair, that was because they were playing.  The kittens were bundles of mobile shining fur.  There was the one Dorian liked best – no, that wasn’t quite right; Dorian loved them all and had never once said, my god there are so many of them.  But that was the one he’d rescued from the others.  Zophiel.  Cullen lifted him, and he was so light, like picking up a furred leaf, but his eyes were brilliant, jewelled.  Another kitten sprang onto Cullen’s lap, a kitten with a patched coat, black and ginger and white.  A calico kitten.  Niko was lying on her side, feeding two of the others.  Cullen let himself relax, for exactly five seconds. 

They needed feeding, too, especially Niko, so Cullen took a tin of luxury lobster and sardine food from Dorian’s larder, pushing away the idea that a family of humans could have enjoyed it as a meal.  The other kittens materialised from corners, from curtain poles. 

Cullen hated to leave them, especially Zophiel.  He pushed away the thought that Zophiel had been held in Dorian’s hands, and that he wanted to cuddle the slight body as if he might still radiate Dorianness.  Instead, he thought that he and Sam could move in as soon as they knew Dorian would be ok. Then Sam could make sure everything was as it should be. 

Of course, they'd move out again as soon as Dorian was well.  

Of course. 

It was very much time to go. Prising sets of claws off his sweatpants, Cullen ran all the way back to the hospital because even uphill and with nothing to eat for 24 hours it was faster than the bus. On his way past the hospital newsstand, he grabbed two Mars bars and a bottle of water, and hurried back to the ward.

The nurse wasn't even there.

Cullen sat down, and started planning what he'd say to her when she did appear, while he unwrapped his Mars bar. He knew it would be a fast blood sugar spike, but it was one way to keep going for another hour.

A sleepy voice.

'Isn't that a Mars bar I smell?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this. Comments and kudos are my food.


	3. Gentle Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the slightly slow update. Like everyone else on the planet, I was afflicted by the virus from hell. Hope a little bit of smut will make up for the delay.

Cullen jumped. 

‘Dorian!’ He wasn’t even sure what he felt inside, but a huge smile formed as if his face knew what he was going to feel, and got ahead of it.

Waves of relief.  Weirdly, a wish to sleep in the peace of it. The peace of the living Dorian. 

‘Cullen. What are you doing here?’  

Waiting to see if you live or die, mostly. ‘I – ‘

'Why do you even care? I mean, I know you're a good little soldier-boy, checking up on your pathetic weakly charges, but surely you don't want to hang around someone so very far beneath your notice?'

Cullen was silent.

Then he said, 'You know, you're a complete idiot. Did you know that?'

'I did. You made it really clear. I did everything short of standing in front of you totally naked, and you ran. Ran like a scared child. Tell me this. _Is_ it your sexuality you are running from, in general, or me, in particular?'

Cullen felt unexpected tears prick his eyes. He wanted to say so much that words choked him. He wanted to say, 'I love you to pieces. I will love you to pieces.' He wanted to say that he was perfectly at home with his sexuality, had been for years. He wanted to say he'd just not wanted to rush things. He wanted to fall on his knees and kiss the floor in front of Dorian’s hospital bed. He wanted to hit Dorian hard on the head for being so stupid and so maddening and so blind.

In the end, he said, 'Ahm. Uh.' And 'I-' He stopped.

'I've embarrassed you, haven't I? Don't fret, my sweet. I say too much. I know I do. I know I'm making a fool of myself by telling you how that felt. I know you know I wanted you. I still want you, and I can't seem to stop.'

As he said 'stop', his voice cracked, just a little.

That was too much for Cullen.

He didn't think or hesitate. He lunged for Dorian, and irrespective of his hurt face, his mouth simply engulfed Dorian's, and Dorian's bruised mouth was open, and warm, and soft, and Cullen felt his tongue against Dorian's and the sharp edge of teeth as Dorian nipped his lower lip, and he tasted blood as Dorian nipped harder. Cullen just went on kissing, enfolding, embracing the mouth that writhed and bit under his. One of Dorian's hands was on the back of his neck, in his hair, pulling him into the kiss.  Cullen found his own hand behind Dorian’s head, fingers tangled in the silken blackness.

Cullen didn't ever want to stop the kisses. While his mouth seized and his tongue penetrated, his hands moved over the beautiful damaged body he'd longed for and dreamed about. The warring longings to hold Dorian tenderly and crush violently almost paralysed him, but he felt the heat build in his belly and loins.

Finally Dorian said, against Cullen's mouth, 'Why don't we repair to the bedroom, beloved?'

Cullen laughed. 'We're in a hospital.  This is as bedroom as it will get.’ 

Dorian looked at him, with a very small smile, and Cullen saw how he’d punched Dorian in the face harder than the attackers had. 

‘Gods.  I have no idea what to do without a bedroom to go to.’ 

‘I have an idea. Two, in fact.  First, we need to talk.  Second, there’s this.'  His mouth moved fast as a bird’s wing over Dorian’s face and neck, kissing, kissing the cuts and bruises better.

Dorian was responsive, arching like a cat, but he also spoke.  ‘You are right about needing to talk.  Where does all this come from, suddenly?  I mean I know absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.  Absence, I mean.  Is it that?’ His fingers netted in Cullen’s hair.  ‘Or are you one of those people who prefer their men bleeding and lying nearly dead on the ground?’   The voice was a silky purr, the words a sharp pinprick of claws.

‘Do you really  - oh, shit – did you really not know?  I just wanted you to – trust me.  To know I wasn’t just there to hump you and run off.  I wanted it to be – part of something.  Because it is for me.’ 

The grey eyes in the ruined face narrowed.  A slow smile appeared and widened.

‘You’re saying you want – commitment? _Before_ we fuck?’

‘I’m saying I want you to know I’m in this for the long haul.’ Cullen swallowed.  ‘I’m saying I love you, you idiot.  So much. It has nothing to do with – what just happened.  I felt like this before.’

‘You felt like this – before.’     It was not a question.  Then Dorian began to laugh.  He laughed and laughed, until he started to gasp, and machines began to ping loudly. ‘Well, my sweet, that’s just about the only thing I hadn’t thought of.   _I’m_ an idiot?  _You_ are an absolute clot, a moron, a retarded, deficient cretin with the imagination of a green cheese. And very oddly, I love you for it. And for much else. Though don’t think that I -’

He was silenced by Cullen’s ruthless mouth. By Cullen, leaning into the kiss, wishing that he could lie against Dorian’s body. Because by now, Cullen’s whole body was a scream of heat and need.  He couldn’t fuck Dorian, here in the hospital, so he let his mouth take what possession it could of this maddening, frustrating, hurt man. 

He was afraid of hurting him more.  Afraid of the bruises and the cuts and the stitches.  But more than his fear of any of that was his terror of not telling Dorian with his body just how very much it all mattered.  There was not really enough love in mouth and lip and tongue and held breath, in finger and palm and in eyes, in shining eyes, in the magic of the light press of mouth on bare skin of neck, a press that could, did turn to a kiss of devouring, sucking, open-mouthed desire. 

Cullen didn’t dare to lie on top of Dorian’s body.  The bandages.  The cracked ribs.  But half-sitting, half-lying beside him, turned to face him, he felt the great heat of his own steel-hard cock almost strangled by clothing.  He pressed against Dorian’s side, and it was hard, very hard, to remember to be gentle when he wanted to fuck so hard he could take down a brick wall.

And Dorian knew it all.  He tried to reach out a hand, cursed.  ‘Bloody stupid drip – wait, I’ll take it out –‘

‘Don’t you _dare_.’ 

‘I won’t if you can help me – find another way.  God.  This is so ridiculous.  I can’t move, and I’m sore and –‘ he drew in a breath - ‘I don’t think I can stand this.’

Cullen flinched, looking into the grey eyes. ‘Oh, God, Dorian, I – shall I just go?’

‘ _No_ , you fool.  That’s _not_ what I mean, I mean I might die of longing here in this stupid bed, unless you touch me. Unless you put your hand on me.’ 

Cullen’s bandaged hand slid under the bedclothes. 

‘This is so not what I had in mind.’ 

‘You were – thinking of flowers and silk sheets?  This will do, love.’ He laughed, a little breathless laugh.  ‘It’s virtually the only part of me in full working order.’ 

Cullen longed to see, but he could at least feel, use his fingers to measure the lovely length of the engorged shaft, to touch the precum leaking from the tip, and he could hear the air whistle out of Dorian’s lungs as he ran a finger over the crease, the little fold, and then very gently over the small hole in the tip, and then he closed his hand over the shaft, and began to pump.  It took just three quick strokes before the hotness of it pulsed in his palm, and Dorian’s back arched, and Cullen’s hand was abruptly drenched in hot liquid spurts, and Cullen leaned to the mouth again, the bruised smiling mouth, half-open and wholly delicious. 

A knock on the door.  Cullen sprang to his feet, and Dorian began to laugh again. 

The red-haired nurse spoke.

‘Well, I can see _you’re_ feeling better!’

‘Much,’ said Dorian, straight-faced.  ‘I’m hoping to feel better still before too long.’ 

Cullen dared not meet his eye.  He felt a huge silly giggle ballooning in him.  Gods, his raging hard-on was probably showing.  He sat down quickly, and crossed his legs.

The nurse did nurse things to the drip, saying things like your friend has been so worried about you and you know he saved you from those muggers and it isn’t everyone who has a friend like that, now is it?

Which didn’t help. 

Dorian ignored Cullen’s rising blushes. ‘I should have asked before. Is Niko all right?  And the kittens?’ 

‘Millie is looking after them, but I dropped in to see them earlier.  They’re all fine.’ 

Dorian spoke this time to the nurse.  ‘When can I go home?’ 

‘Well, not today, you’ve only just come round.  You need to be a bit sensible.’

‘I’m sensible of so many things.’ 

‘Now you can maybe persuade your friend here to go and have something to eat.’ 

‘Cullen.  Do you want something to eat?  Something hot, perhaps? I’m sure there’s something ready for you not too far away.’

The nurse finally, finally left.   

There was a pause.

‘Are you hungry, beloved?’

‘Only for you.’

‘I want you too.  Oh, god.  I’ve wanted to touch you for weeks, and now I get to do it with my arms tied. A kind of frustration bondage. And that means – yes. You’ll have to be willing to do as you are told.’

‘That’s – not my strongest suit.’

‘I guessed.  And I’m also guessing bright lights in a place where we might be interrupted by a naïve nurse who is distinctly attracted to you might not be a favourite either?’ 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed.  ‘Do you know what?  I really don’t care. I really don’t. All I care about is having your hands or your mouth on me, just about anywhere.’

‘Anywhere – on you?’   

‘Well, I had a particular place in mind.’

‘I you came right over here.  And kissed me, very gently.  And lifted up this stupid gown.  So you can see me.  And could you please – oh, that’s right – yes, just there.  Just suck me there.’  Cullen felt the nipple ruche in his mouth, against his tongue.

‘Tell me what you’d like me to do.’

Cullen took a deep breath.  ‘Well – if you were well, and we weren’t in a hospital ward – ‘

‘That’s the idea.’ 

‘Um.  There isn’t a single way I haven’t thought about fucking you.  Not a single one.’ 

‘And which one did you think about most?’  The mouth was curved by held-in laughter. 

‘Turning you over and taking you from behind.’ 

A soft purr.  ‘You said it.  Not possible now, but let’s play pretend, darling heart.  I’m going to get my hand all slick and wet with spit, and then you are going to come very close, and I’m going to pull down those silly, floppy pants you are wearing, which hide nearly nothing of that genuinely glorious boner, and I am going to take you in my hand, in my fist, and you are going to think of how you will fuck me when I’m all better.’

Cullen, mesmerised, did exactly as he was told. 

‘Ahh.  You are so lovely.  Oh god.  Now, close your eyes. Close them. Listen to me. You’re so ready.  I’m under you, Cullen and I’m so hot and wet and tight for you.  So hot.  Now, take me.  Deep, my love.  Oh, gods.  Gods, I  - oh, please.  Please.  Oh, Cullen.  You’re in me so bare.  Come for me, my love.  Come for me!’  - And Cullen did, in a series of explosive convulsions that were like the blast of thunder in summer storms. 

Cullen opened his eyes.  Dorian was still smiling.  And he took the wounded face in his hands, and kissed Dorian, on brow and eyelids.  Just as he’d always meant to do. 

‘There’s a lot to look forward to,’ Dorian said. 

Cullen sat down on the edge of the bed.  He looked at the clock. 

‘Oh, god.  I have to run, just for half an hour.  It’s Sam.  I literally run, and I’m going to be back very soon, and –‘

‘Lovely Sam.  I understand entirely.  But what about your dinner?  Or lunch, or breakfast?’ 

‘I’ll grab a sandwich and eat it here with you.’ 

‘You’ve definitely had worse ideas. When you come back, I expect photos of my many furred darlings, and of Sam.’  

‘They – haven’t seen much of each other.’

‘Why on earth?  You should just move in to my apartment till I’m better.  No good running all over town.’ 

Was that a good sign of commitment - ? or not, with the ‘Until’ locked into it? 

‘Let’s talk properly later.’

‘‘That’s the trouble with you.  Still all talk. There’ll be lots of do later.’ 


	4. Command Me to be Well

The idea took root in Cullen as he ran. 

He put Sam’s collar and lead on, gathered up his food dishes, and took him straight to Dorian’s apartment. 

He brought Sam into the living room, which was - as always - awash with kittens. 

Sam gave a single, calm wuff as Ithuriel danced forward, arched, spat.  Timid Zophiel took refuge under the coffee table, but the others materialised from four corners when they heard the sound of rustling foil food packets.  They ate, and Cullen sat down in Dorian’s surprisingly old-fashioned leather armchair, with Sam at his feet.  Once kitten mealtime was over, both of them were engulfed by a warm wave of kittens.  Cullen had four in his lap, with their mother.  Sam was host to three more. 

Kittens were amazing.  Quick slivers of furry energy, but also capable of such calm, such extreme sleep.  He was holding four sleeping bundles wound so small they looked like pieces of fluff, and they probably wouldn’t wake or stir unless there was a disturbance. 

Not like Sam.  Sam, who had known. 

Now Sam too was willing to doze.  It made Cullen feel at ease.  Sam would know if anything bad was happening across town, where Dorian was. 

His own body satisfied, if not satiated, Cullen himself was beginning to feel drowsy.  He took out the Mars Bar and ate it.  Reminded himself to stay awake.  To get back to Dorian.

To be there for him.

To be there. 

To be. 

But he must have dozed, because he realised abruptly that his phone was buzzing. 

With a text.

A text from the nurse. 

That simply said, ‘Come back. He’s crashing.’

Cullen leapt to his feet in a tumbling slide of kittens.  Ran for the door.  Picked up a hospital bus in the high street.  It was crawling up the hill, so he leapt out and ran for it, and in his head the word no, no, no, no, no, no beat like a heavy drum. 

If he’d doubted it before, he knew now just how very deep in he was.  Beyond smitten.  His head reeled with it, and inside him a dark ashen landscape of utter sadness was growing by the minute, a landscape labelled _dead_. 

He was three-quarters of the way up the hill when he thought, _but why didn’t Sam know?_

 All this time, he’d been sure Sam would know what was going on with Dorian. 

But Dorian was crashing – yes, _was_ , fuck you – and Sam hadn’t so much as whined. 

His mind skittered for explanations. Sam knew that nobody could do anything, not like last time. Or Sam himself had been too tired or too sleepy.  Or –

Or it wasn’t true.   

That nurse hadn’t struck him as smarter than Sam. 

He clung to that last possibility. 

As he skidded through the doors, into the stairwell, up, up.  _Hold on.  Hold ON.  I’m coming. I won’t let you die alone.  Not like the last time.  Not like the last time._

He burst through Dorian’s door.  A nurse put out a hand.  ‘Mr Rutherford, you’ll have to wait outside.  Mr Rutherford –‘

He pushed her aside, gently, heard her calling security. 

He had no time for that.  He was looking at Dorian. 

The lovely face was yellow and puffed.  The edges of the stitched cuts gaped.  He was on oxygen, wearing a transparent plastic mask. 

Cullen went up to him and took the limp hand.  He knew Dorian couldn’t tell him what had happened.  He had a big drip in his arm and a new machine attached to him. 

‘Hemodialysis,’ the nurse said. 

‘How long has he been down?’

‘We started the dialysis when he’d been down for only around ten minutes.’

‘Around?’

‘I was called away,’ she said, and dropped her eyes. 

‘What’s the prognosis?’

One of the people in scrubs, a young woman, said, ‘Mr Rutherford.  If you’ll just step outside, just for a minute –‘

‘You can tell me here.’ 

‘Look, let us take care of him.  You just step –‘

‘No.  I should never have left him. I know how this goes. Tell me here.’

‘He has a crush injury to the kidney.  The prognosis is – well, chances aren’t very good.’

‘How not good?’

‘Well, about ten percent of people do make it through.’

‘And why didn’t you start him on hemodialysis sooner?’

‘Well, our policy is –‘

The cold rage frosted Cullen’s voice.  ‘I can imagine.  If he dies, you’ll need to lawyer up and also hire bodyguards for yourselves.   How long does he have?’

‘We’ll know in about 36 hours.’ 

‘I plan to stay with him, then.’

The nurse nodded.  The woman in scrubs made a helpless gesture with her hands.  The other woman gave Dorian another injection, and sat down on the only other chair.

She looked at Cullen; he could feel it. 

‘How long since you slept?’

‘I was asleep when the text came in.’

His voice cracked on that last word. 

It was so very much too late to say any more. 

He sat on the floor, his arms around his knees.  Mechanically, he texted Millie, told her about the situation.  He had to hope Sam would behave with her.  Inside himself was a sore, bruised place.  How could any grown man ever have trusted a _dog_ to know how things were going? 

People came and went and fiddled with machines, and Dorian went on breathing, and Cullen sat there, and sometimes he dozed, and once, he actually fell asleep completely, or he must have, because when he opened his eyes he was surprised to find he wasn’t standing on a hillside in Helmand with Samson, but sitting in a hospital ward with Dorian.  With Dorian, to the very end. 

People put styrofoam cups of coffee beside him, and he ignored them.  What was the point in drinking them?

When the worst happened – when Dorian lost his battle for breath – Cullen planned to re-enlist – oh, he knew the army wouldn’t take him, but he also knew of units of mercs who would.

Yes, _when_ , fuckyouall. 

He sat dry-eyed.    Listening for the breaths and the machine sounds.  Dozing and waking and dozing.  Oh, gods.  No point in even talking to them.  Hail fucking Mary – what had he been thinking?  Like anyone cared. 

What finally roused him was the beep of a text. 

It was from Millie, and it said, Sam fine. Sleeping with kittens.

Yup, just as he thought.  In Dog We Trust?  How dumb was that? 

And this whole disaster was HIS FAULT.  He should have had the honesty to act on his feelings. 

At least they had had those kisses.  But he couldn’t bear to remember them now.  Maybe in a few months, or a few years, maybe then he could look back and say, yes, that was pretty good.  Not now.  Now it just added to the sense that the whole universe was a cheating liar. 

Cullen must have drifted to sleep again, under the dim lights, because he woke to a sudden flurry of people in the room.  He sprang to his feet. 

There were people in white coats.

One of them turned to him.  ‘It’s early days, Mr Rutherford, but I think it’s fair to say he’s responding well to the dialysis.  Vital signs are picking up. If he goes on like this, he has a good chance.’

‘How good?’ 

‘Well, better than one in ten, anyway.  Maybe - one in three? No promises, but he’s a young man, very fit, so that’s in his favour.’

Yes, Dorian was fit, all right.   Still, Cullen crushed his resurgent hope. If there was one thing he’d learned from Samson, it was – it should have been – not to hope.   

But he couldn’t help it.  In his mind, it was part of a pattern, with Sam sleeping sweet in the tender furred blanket of kittens.  With Dorian, still breathing slow and even in his plastic mask.  With the dim of the lights. 

Cullen was asleep too, and in his sleep he was sitting by Samson’s bed. 

‘Sam.  Oh, Sam.  This is all my fault.  I did this to you.’

‘You fool. I did this to myself. You had to warn HQ.  You were right.  Never forget.  You were -’ He choked on the word. Choked again.  Looking straight at Cullen, his eyes fixed.  He was still.   Stiff. 

He was a stiff. 

He was gone. Samson didn’t look out from that face anymore.  Samson, who had got himself into the heroin business.  Samson, who had been using his position in Special Ops to run heroin out of Helmand, who had got himself involved in a drug gang that had links to Taliban militants, who had then used what they knew about him to blackmail him into leaking information about his patrol routes to the militants, who had then been caught, been court-martialled, been dismissed, gone on the run, and had been involved in a brutal attack on what had once been his own patrol.      

And Cullen, who had ratted him out to HQ.  And who had loved him.  And who had lain with him in shivering bliss under the high stars of Helmand. 

And who still loved him.

And who was responsible for his death. 

Cullen woke, genuinely confused about where he was.

Now it was as if that terrible pattern was being played out all over again.  Just when he had tried to change the game.  Here he was, sitting by the deathbed of a man he loved, feeling the dead weight of a curse on him. 

Dorian was still breathing.  It was 8 am.  He’d lived through the night. 

Cullen’s phone buzzed.  Another text.  _Sam fine, awake, ate all dog food plus kitten food.  Wants walk. Ok?_

He texted back.  _Ok.  Bring him here.  I’ll come down.  Text me on arrival._

_Yes, SIR. Things ok with D?_

_Sending six kitten pics. Might help?_

_Why not seven?_

_Zophiel always hides._

_See you soon._

_xx_

The funny thing was that the prospect of seeing Sam made Cullen feel very slightly better.  Better enough to gulp down one of the cold coffees beside him, and to wonder about eating something. 

He sat up, and for the first time, actually spoke to Dorian. 

‘Dorian.  Love.  I know you might not be able to hear me, but you might.  Millie just sent pictures of all the kittens.  And of Niko.  They’re all fine.  Sam’s looking after them. Look.  I know you can’t see, but I’m going to show you the pictures.  See?  This one’s of Azazel.  And Kamael.  And Ithuriel, see?  And Leptiel.  He’s so sweet, isn’t he?  As sweet as you yourself.  See?’

There was a sudden big huff of air. 

‘Where’s – Zophiel?’ said Dorian, through the mask. 


	5. Amen Amen Amen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! More smut ahead, but bittersweet. Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments, and especially to those who did my survey. I've really fallen in love with this universe, so I might write more one-shots to give you glimpses of their future.

A rockslide of kittens ran and frolicked in the living room of Dorian’s apartment.  Dorian himself lay on the sofa, Niko in his lap, barely visible, coiled on a fur throw as black as she was. 

Zophiel was playing with Dorian’s phone.  He’d set it to an image of fish swimming. Again and again, Zophiel dabbed at the screen, puzzled.  Why couldn’t he get anywhere? 

Cullen might have said the same. 

Dorian was wearing that silk dressing gown. 

Cullen had a cup of lemon tea in his hands.  No milk.  No sugar.  Just the juice of a whole lemon, and Earl Grey tea made from large leaves, in a thin bone china cup, with a saucer. 

He’d learnt so much. 

Every day, every hour, every minute of the past fortnight was vivid with fear and love.  Sometimes his eyes almost ached from trying to drink in Dorian every second.

Because Dorian was better, but he was not cured.   He would need dialysis three times a week until he could have a kidney transplant.

Cullen’s first thought on hearing this had been to offer his own kidney, but – unsurprisingly – there hadn’t been a match of tissue types.  Looking at his own pale, pinkish skin next to Dorian’s golden face, Cullen thought they didn’t even look as if they’d match. 

The fact was that not even Cullen’s kidney could really make amends. 

It was his fault that Dorian had been hurt.  He knew it, and the terrible knowing roared in his ears every day. 

Dorian had said nothing about it.  But Cullen knew.  If he could turn time back… his stupid high standards.  His stupid attempt to make everything perfect.  His stupid try at making his life clean and good and holy.  It left Dorian maimed. 

He put his hand on Sam’s head.  Sam looked up at him with huge brown eyes, a mix of puzzled and gentle.  Sam always knew about Cullen’s feelings.  He also knew that in some obscure way he’d failed his master at some crucial test.  

And Cullen knew he was right about that, and it couldn’t be taken away from Sam any more than it could be from him. 

The kittens had begun to grow, bodies elongating to fit with their heads.  Soon they too would no longer be innocent of what they were.  

He handed Dorian the tea.

‘Thank you, my love.’  That smile, a cock of a snook at fate, a confident, brilliant, unbeaten gaiety.  Cullen bent impulsively and kissed the top of the dark head, a single kiss, lips not moving, but he didn’t want to draw back from it.  One of Dorian’s hands was wrapped around his wrist.  The other held his face, very gently. 

‘Oh, my love,’ Dorian said, in that voice, made to make grown men shake.  A voice with an assured topnote of smoky caress and a lower crack in it where feelings broke through.

Cullen sat down, his wrist still in Dorian’s hand.

He gathered his thoughts, trying not to look at Dorian, at the satiny skin and shape of chest and shoulder where the silk robe gaped. 

‘How can you be like this?’ he found himself saying.  ‘When it was all my fault that you –‘

Dorian put a hand over his mouth, a finger tracing the scar.  ‘You have more to forgive than I do.’ 

‘But – if I’d only –‘

‘And I could have waited.  I could have trusted. I could have mustered up some self-belief instead of acting like the stupid spoilt little whore. All right, my love.  Full confession, and an _amende_ _honourable_ – that’s where they rip you apart, isn’t it? I went looking for a suckhole, and I found one.  Four johns in succession came in my mouth, and I felt like a cheap whore, the lowest whore in all creation.  It was as if I was trying to prove you right about me. No idea of safe sex.  I wanted unsafe sex.  Even that wasn’t enough to fill up the hole that’s me, so I went to what I know to be just about the straightest-arrow pub in town, and I was playing the tart to those guys, flipping my hands, and pulling my trousers tight on my arse.  I didn’t want them to beat me up, but I wasn’t planning to start a sewing circle with them either.’

He’d been looking straight at Cullen.  Now he dropped his eyes. 

Cullen took Dorian’s face in both his hands.  ‘And you think that makes you bad?  You think you’re a whore?  You think that means I won’t love you to distraction for every second God gives us?  You think that means I won’t want to fuck away every memory of every other man you’ve ever fucked so I can have you all to myself?  Is that what you think?  Well, you are shit out of luck if you think anything like that.’

His mouth closed on Dorian’s, and the sharp taste of Dorian, tea and lemon and something spiced, of himself, was in his mouth like a grain of paradise, and warmth began to spread from his mouth into his body, heating, heath.  He put his hands behind Dorian’s head, pulling his mouth closer, opening it to his tongue, and Dorian’s hands ran down Cullen’s back, slithering warmth hit his groin in a great electric throb of desire. 

Dorian’s mouth let go and Cullen looked into his eyes, the pupils flared with desire. 

‘Do all that,’ said the soft, wet mouth.  ‘Do all that. ‘ 

Cullen’s eyes searched the astounding face.  ‘Won’t I – hurt you?’

‘The first thing I asked the doctor was, is fucking ok? And it is. He said there might be a problem with getting hard.  But there really, really isn’t.’

Cullen laughed. 

‘I love you.  You know that. I love you.’   

Neither was sure which of them had said it first. 

Cullen swallowed hard.  ‘I have to see you.  All of you.’

Dorian shrugged his robe off his shoulders. 

There was his body.  Even more glorious than Cullen had thought.  The sleek skin, and the shape of muscles, and the long streak of hair running down into the groin, and the rock-hard, slender, long cock, golden skin glistening just a little. 

Cullen’s heart was beating hard in his throat. 

‘What do you want?’

‘I want your mouth on me.  Now.’  The last word was a near snarl, and the sound went straight to Cullen’s cock. 

Hi e ran his tongue down the whole swollen length of Dorian.  When he reached the tip, his tongue traced the little ridge of skin, licked harder. Dorian gave a long high moan. 

Cullen took the length of it into his mouth, slowly, in inches.  As his mouth moved to engulf, Dorian didn’t stop his soft moans.  Softly, then harder, Cullen ran his tongue around the head, and his mouth closed tighter, his cheeks hollowed.  Suck, suck, rhythmblues.  Dorian’s soft groans were driving him mad.  As he felt the lava heat gather in Dorian, he wondered just for a second if he himself might just come in his jeans, without further ado, as his own cock strained against the seam, and when Dorian did explode hot and fierce into his mouth, his throat, Cullen did feel it in his own hardness.  The bitter sap taste of Dorian’s seed, nourishing in its heat and its astoundingness, better than any sweetness. 

Cullen looked up at the lovely flushed face.  He knew his chin was probably shining with spit.  So bloody what. 

He kissed the spread thighs. Kissed the cock, so tender now.

‘Now, it’s time for what _you_ want,’ the sweet smoky voice said, still just a little breathless. 

Cullen gulped. 

‘Well.  Um. I want to fuck you and I want to fuck you hard and I want to make you come all over again with my cock up you. I want it to hurt, just a little bit, but only as much as it has to for me to be in you all the way.’

Dorian narrowed his eyes like a cat, a sleek black one. 

‘Yes.  Yes, my love.  Just one thing.  I want you inside me bare.’ 

‘Bare?  But that’s –‘

‘I trust you.  I want you to trust me. Yes, I know.  Emotional blackmail, in a way, given the lovely bulge you have in those adorably baggy jeans.  But I want us to trust one another.  No more hiding. No more pretending. I have to know.’

Cullen smiled. 

‘Well, I know about myself.  You’ve – done this before?’

‘Taken someone bare?  Not since high school.’

‘All right.’

Which actually meant, _if you die I don’t want to live._  An utterly stupid and completely necessary thing to say.

Dorian turned over, lay on the bed with his perfect, muscled arse in the air. 

‘Darling.  Lube in the top drawer of the bedside table.’

Cullen found it, fast, and slicked himself, slicked Dorian, worked a fingertip in, felt Dorian clench around it and then open, put in another finger, was clasped and released again.  He had to try not even to look at Dorian, stretched in front of him, open to him, or it would all be over in a nanosecond. 

He nudged in with the tip of his cock, and then thrust, slow, steady _easy easy Cullen_ , and tried to ignore the absolutely glorious sounds Dorian made as he felt Cullen reach him that place, there, oh _there_.

‘Oh - my god - Dorian,’ Cullen said, and thrust in, out, quick, slick steady pushes.  ‘You want it, don’t you, my love?  Do you – know how long – I’ve wanted – this?  Do you?’ 

He was surprised at how steady his voice sounded, given that he was inches away. 

He reached around and his hand found Dorian’s cock, harder even than it had been before, smooth as polished wood, but hot, hot, still sticky.  Cullen held it, not tightening his fingers, the back of his hand against the bedclothes.

  He was in him to the hilt now.  Rocking, relentless, faster.  Every stroke a fiery sword. 

‘Come for me, beloved.  Come for me.  Now.’  And Dorian was shaking under him and thrusting into his hand and he gave one long cry, wordless, high, as Cullen felt the cock he held begin to spasm, and that was all it took to undo him, send him over the edge into blind darkness that went white with ecstasy. 

He might actually have lost consciousness for a millisecond, but the awakening to Dorian’s body still under him was glorious.   

Cullen pressed wet kisses, open mouthed, on back and shoulder. 

He didn’t want to let go of this, not ever.  Never let go of this beautiful, fragile man, ever. 

Never, never. 

* * *

But the body was a tyrant, and it wanted food, and the kittens wanted food too, and so did Sam.  So soon it was time for a picnic of the cinnamon rolls Cullen liked and the tiny little coloured biscuits Dorian liked, which he said were called macaroons, and the sardines Niko liked, and the chunks of cheese the kittens liked, and lots of pieces of everything for Sam because there was nothing Sam didn’t like.  There was also Early Grey.  There was also beer.  They ate it all in bed. 

‘I could still die.  They might not find a kidney in time.’ 

‘Hush, love. I know. I know.’

‘It’s a lot to ask of you.  To put your life on hold, to stay with me…’

The arms around him tightened.  ‘The only way you’d be asking a lot of me is if you asked me to leave you. My life isn’t on hold.  This _is_ my life.’ 

‘They say it’s a gentle death, if it happens.’

Now Cullen’s hold was so hard he was grasping the bones under the skin and muscle.  ‘I won’t let you die.’

Dorian hugged him back.  ‘You and Sam. Sam knew, didn’t he?  He knew I was in trouble.  You told me that, and I saw him there.    And that time I went down.  He was with me the whole time.  The whole time.  He never left me, Cullen, never.’

‘He wasn’t allowed in the hospital.’

‘I know.  That’s not what I mean. I mean he was with me in – it wasn’t exactly dreams, but somewhere where all the colours bleed together, and everything hurts more. There was a time when there are a dozen of them at me. Horned, like slender deer. Crazy, I know.  Sam scattered them, just like he took out those homophobic arses behind the hanged man.  Cullen, he wouldn’t _let_ me die.’

So Sam _had_ known, but he’d also known he’d _won_.     He knew there was no need to wake Cullen.   

It was completely daft, but Cullen leaned over, put his hand on Sam’s head, scratching the ears.  ‘Good boy!’  He paused, savouring the many breaths in the room. ‘It’s amazing what a dog can do,’ he said aloud. 

‘Well, it makes sense.  An amazing man like you should have an amazing dog.  I’m not as interesting, so I have to have multiple animals to compete.  Where is Zophiel, by the way?’

‘Looking down at us from the top of the wardrobe.’

‘And what better sight could there be?’ 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are very much loved.
> 
> I'm only a writer for a few hours a week - sniffle. The rest of the time, I'm an academic working on a project ABOUT writing. It would be brilliant if any writers reading this could answer a few questions about why and how they write. Here is the link: https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/6F7FLHG
> 
> Note: The kittens all have demon names, because Dorian is a sweet, intellectual cookie and he obviously knows demon names in any universe.


End file.
